FIC: Reins of History (9/30) - Cid/Fran - PG-13 - FFXII
Title: Reins of History (9/30)
pairing/characters: Cid/Fran, Ffamran
fandom: FFXII
warnings: Spoilers for the whole game, weird pairing
rating: PG-13
summary: Long before Rabanastre fell, Fran left the Wood, in search of her destiny. Instead she found strange hume ways and imperial politics -- and her soulmate Cid Bunansa. Years later, she and her son are put at odds with an empire, entangled in a war they never intended to fight.
notes: I am making a valiant attempt to put out at least one chapter a week. I am several chapters ahead and have those chapters in beta. Thanks to ayndin for the beginning of an idea that turned into a massive project and continued prodding, inspiration, and beta-ing. Thanks to regann for her beta, her prodding, for playing a game she doesn't like that much, and for shouting 'Frid!' at me a lot.
previous chapters:
[One] | [Two] | [Three] | [Four] | [Five] | [Six] | [Seven] | [Eight]
current chapter:
Chapter 9:
Cid returned directly to his rooms after work that day, shedding vest on his way there. The day had been pure torture. Equations that had made sense the day before were replaced with mush. Basic laws of physics were forgotten or misremembered. He’d been late for two meetings, and worthless for both of them.
Sabastian had almost threatened to send him home early but he had managed to pull himself together sometime after lunch and make an attempt at productivity.
Bringing Elissa home last night had been a mistake. Sleeping with her hadn’t been very intelligent either, obviously. Of course turning her down would have raised quite a few eyebrows as well.
Sitting across from Fran the next morning had been torture. Wondering if she knew, wondering if she cared, instead they had passed the time just like any other morning of idle chitchat, leaving him feeling like he was lying to her every time he opened his mouth.
And then he’d seized the chance to spend even more time with her tonight, knowing he would feel the same terror as he had over breakfast. He stripped quickly and donned black slacks, white shirt, and belt. He glared at his wardrobe for presenting him with too many options. He smiled, recalling the evening before when Fran had called him a clothes horse, but he darkened again, reminding himself he’d agreed not to think about that.
There was a knock on the door. He ignored it and went back to glowering at his clothes. Another knock and he went to the door to tell off whatever servant had the indecency to bother him just now. It was his mother. He sighed. As frustrated as he was right now it was still poor form to tell off one's mother. She let herself in.
“Big evening?” she asked, indicating his halfway to well-dressed state.
“If you must know I’ve asked Fran to the Metropolitan Playhouse for the evening.” He readied himself for whatever nastiness his mother was preparing about Fran, having heard several earfuls of it before. She often came with such wisdom when he managed to ruin yet another courtship due to wanting the lady to be something she was not, blamed it on Fran, which was probably true, and told him to get over her and move on.
Instead of doing that, however, she went to his wardrobe and pulled out a gold silk vest. She handed it to him and he pulled it over his shirt buttoning it cautiously and waiting for the explosion.
“No lecture on getting over her?” He asked while she gave his clothing options a critical eye.
“I’ve long since accepted that you would never get over her, son,” she sighed. “And although I have lived in Archadia almost my entire life, I do have certain Rozzarian notions that will never fade with time. Republics composed of sixteen houses demand taking a little bit of one good idea, a little bit of another good idea and bringing them together into something better.” Cid looked and her quizzically, having absolutely no idea what his mother was getting at. “You’ve been in love with her since before you were old enough to know what you felt. She’s been in love with you for Faram knows how long. If you’re not smart enough to figure what those two good ideas add up to, then you’re not nearly as smart as I give you credit for.”
She turned back to the wardrobe, pawing through jackets to go with the vest. Cid stared, mouth open in shock.
“I’ll not keep her like some back alley whore, she’d be a partner in every way I could manage,” Cid snapped back, defiant.
“It wouldn’t be fair to either of you otherwise,” his mother agreed.
“Why the sudden change of heart, Mother? You’d curse her name for the whole house to hear, mostly recently only nine weeks ago when I destroyed an opportunity for a good match with one Elissa, house Jossafi, because I couldn’t stand her empty-headed frivolity.” Cid winced when he remembered, again, how he’d gladly dragged her home last night despite or perhaps because of her perfect willingness to be taken, several times. He shook his head to clear it.
“Because I had words with her and she was nothing I expected and everything you said she was.” Cid almost physically backpedaled at the idea of Fran and his mother having words and was newly terrified of what his mother might have managed to craft together in one short day.
“That’s,” he paused, “good?”
“Yes, excellent. I don’t think it will be easy, son. But I’m pretty sure it will make you happier than anything else I’ve tried to make for you.” She pulled out a jacket, mostly red but with patches of purple and gold, collar turned back instead of a more usual high collar and tails down the back, handing it to him. He donned it wordlessly, trying to take in what his mother had said.
“Just to be clear...” He went to the dresser and took out white gloves, pulling them on slowly. “You want me to take Fran to the play, you’d like me to be with her, make her my partner, maybe even marry her, after explaining marriage because viera have no such institution, and keep her, political consequences be damned?”
She went up to him and tugged on his collar to even it out and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Have a good evening dear,” and she left, closing the door behind her. Cid found himself wondering if perhaps he should see about getting his mother a doctor because she was clearly heading towards insanity in her middle age.
He checked his appearance in the mirror one last time and headed out the door and down the hallway.
He knocked lightly on Fran’s door and straightened his jacket, slightly nervously. He heard her clacking footsteps come closer and she opened the door.
“Fran, good evening, I hope you -” He was not entirely sure how much time he spent open-mouthed and unable to speak as he stared at her. In retrospect it was probably well more than what would be considered appropriate by any measure of politeness. When his brain began to work well enough for him to close his mouth and actually take stock of her he caught the curl of her lip that she wore whenever she knew something that he did not.
He could not begin to fathom how she could be more covered than when she wore her armor yet be even more arousing.
“You look lovely.” He tried to stifle the wince at exactly how pathetic he sounded.
“You hope I look lovely?” she asked. “I hope I look lovely as well then.” She stepped out of her room and closed the door behind her. It took him a few moments to remember his manners and offer her his arm. She stepped up beside him and took his arm in hers. “I suppose I understand what Her Grace meant about not making it to the play now, though.”
Cid flushed in spite of himself and started to walk them to the aircars. He couldn’t decide whether he wanted to run after his mother and thank her profusely or curse her for how frustrated he would be for the entire play.
Cid managed not to embarrass himself too badly by staring at her the entire ride to the playhouse. He settled for staring at her well more than half the time. For her part Fran seemed oblivious to the level of attention he was paying her. She smiled and asked questions about what he had worked on that day and generally seemed to ignore exactly how much of a fool he was making of himself.
He answered competently, trying to pull himself together. He was used to his wits being sharper than this.
They managed to make their way to the theater without any more danger of losing brain cells. They pulled up to the playhouse and Cid got out, walking to the other side of the car to open the door for Fran. No one gave him a second glance. Cidolfus Bunansa at the theater was no news. When Fran stepped out of the car, however, all hell broke loose. Several stares and quite a few photographs were aimed in their direction. He led Fran into the theater and up to his box where he sat, deflated.
Fran looked at him, clearly concerned.
“It’s nothing, let's just enjoy the show,” he smiled at her. The lights went down and the curtain went up and the show began.
But it wasn’t nothing. As much as he wanted to imagine that it would be easy to have Fran in his life, tomorrow the gossip section would be plastered with pictures of them, probably implying he’d paid her well for her companionship. It was acceptable for him to keep her at home, in his bed, it was practically expected for someone of his station, but if he took her out to dinner or to a play he was a mad fool parading his sexual perversion for all to see.
He looked over at Fran who was already engrossed in the play on stage. A quick glance confirmed he’d already seen the play several times. A girl on a foreign island dresses as her brother to not be seen as a girl alone, falls in love with a local duke and mistaken identities and gender twisting misunderstandings follow. A comedy. He found he wasn’t in the mood and turned his mind back to the matter at hand.
He had always cared for her, since he was a child. He supposed he had always loved her. It used to be a child’s love, pure and full of wonder. When he’d drifted into adolescence he’d never found viera any more or less attractive than any other woman. She sat less than a foot away, radiating something that drew him in more than he could say. It would be easy to conclude that he wanted her. He did. But it went beyond that and he had no solid reason why.
Could he do that? Could he ask her to be his, forsake his father’s plans to see his son at the head of the Empire? Give up everything for a woman he had, in many ways, only met yesterday?
He watched her, leaning forward in her chair against the box railing watching the scene unfold before her on stage, eyes sparkling, her mouth half-open in awe. He swallowed to relieve the tightness in his throat.
“Faram help me, yes,” he whispered. Fran turned to him, half glowering for interrupting the play and half curious as to why he had spoken. His only response was to smile. She turned back to the play. He reached out to take her hand from where it rested against the front of the box. He ran a gloved finger across the back of her hand.
She responded by taking his hand in her own and pressing one side against him, leaning lightly against him, but she never took her eyes off the stage. He reorganized his arms wrapping one gently around her waist and bringing his other hand across to hold her hand. She rested her head, cheek to cheek with him, obvious to everything but the actors on the stage.
He held her like that for the rest of the production. His arm was numb by the end, but Cid considered it to have been for a good cause. They headed out of the theater, arm in arm; he had almost forgotten about the rest of the world when he stepped out of the theater to find that several dozen more photographers had come to the door apparently specifically to catch pictures of he and Fran. He gritted his teeth into a smile and led Fran to the waiting aircar.
“I did not think you were so hard up for female companionship you would resort to bringing a prettied up whore to the theater.”
He tensed and turned, knowing who had spoken before he turned. Elissa Jossafi stood looking lovely in a deep midnight blue evening gown with a good-looking man Cid did not recognize on her arm.
“Elissa,” he greeted her coolly. He bit his tongue from saying anything further and placed a hand at Fran’s back, escorting her towards the car.
“I’d have picked a prettier one for how much you must have paid for her.” That had come from her escort.
That was well worth the loss of a few teeth from his cocky grin. He turned to head towards him. Fran seemed to realize his intention and placed a hand across his chest. She did not apply any pressure but the intent was clear. Cid turned back to the car and continued the walk. He opened the door and Fran slid in.
“Behave,” she said softly, yet sternly. He nodded and made it to the other side of the car and inside without succumbing to the urge to pummel Elissa or her escort. He looked across the car and smiled at Fran, who smiled back and took his and again. “She is the one you were with last night?”
“How-?” He stopped. He should be apologizing, not questioning how she knew in the first place.
“I heard you, last night, and I could smell her on you this morning,” she explained simply.
“My apologies.” He couldn’t imagine what he could say to soothe the guilt he was feeling. “It was unexpectedly wonderful and difficult to see you again after all those years.”
Fran nodded. “I was similarly conflicted. I wanted to be here with you, but after living in Archades for so many years I knew we could not have what I wanted.” Fran went silent, considering something for a few moments. “Her Grace said you had made a habit of losing yourself in women who you did not love and would not marry.”
“My mother, it seems, has a large mouth lately,” Cid answered, chagrined. “Never again. If you would have me, with all my faults, I will cherish you forever.”
Fran sat shocked for a few moments, taking in what he had said.
“I think this must be what your mother must have meant by ‘eating out of your hand’,” she offered a large smile. Cid groaned and reevaluated whether he should thank his mother or not.
They arrived home and Cid escorted her to her door. He kissed her hand, hopefully slightly gallantly instead of as nervous has he felt. He looked into her eyes, wishing he could figure out how to say everything he was feeling right now.
Fran bit her lip uncertainly. A few moments later she licked her lips. After what appeared to be a moment’s consideration she brought a hand up and wrapped it around the back of his neck, threading fingers through his hair and pulling him towards her. He wet his own lips nervously before they reached hers.
The kiss was tentative, her lips sealed tight. He snaked one hand to her waist and brought the other to tilt her head to a better angle. He ran his lips across hers inviting her to soften and relax into him. She mimicked his kiss, hesitantly at first but tried again moments later, deciding it was worth repeating. Her next kiss was more forceful and he met it eagerly she exhaled hotly against his cheek and drew in another breath though her nose, loudly in his ear.
He drew away and kissed her cheek, as she had done years ago just before leaving. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was slightly ragged. His wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer to him, resting his head on her shoulder. She ran her hands down his back, holding him tightly as well.
He trailed a light kiss across her jaw. “I love you,” he whispered, and drew away and put a more decent amount of distance between them.
Fran smiled and took his chin lightly to tilt his face of slightly upwards and kissed him one more time, soundly. “Myself as well.”
He pulled away, took her hand and placed it over his heart in a mock-dramatic pose. Fran smiled. “Good night, my dear.”
He walked back to his room, turning around to catch Fran, hair slightly askew now, looking down the hall watching him go. His mind screamed for him to go back to her, to unpin her hair and lead her through the door to her room and let her drag him down on top of her, peeling off her silk dress and - he stopped his thoughts turning back around and back towards his own bed, alone.
Just because he had never bothered to properly court a woman didn’t mean he was incapable of it. He would do right by her, treat her as he would treat a lady. The fact that his mother would probably kill him otherwise made the decision a little easier to stand by. He went bed feeling a combination of frustration and contentment that was a somewhat pleasurable agony.
pairing/characters: Cid/Fran, Ffamran
fandom: FFXII
warnings: Spoilers for the whole game, weird pairing
rating: PG-13
summary: Long before Rabanastre fell, Fran left the Wood, in search of her destiny. Instead she found strange hume ways and imperial politics -- and her soulmate Cid Bunansa. Years later, she and her son are put at odds with an empire, entangled in a war they never intended to fight.
notes: I am making a valiant attempt to put out at least one chapter a week. I am several chapters ahead and have those chapters in beta. Thanks to ayndin for the beginning of an idea that turned into a massive project and continued prodding, inspiration, and beta-ing. Thanks to regann for her beta, her prodding, for playing a game she doesn't like that much, and for shouting 'Frid!' at me a lot.
previous chapters:
[One] | [Two] | [Three] | [Four] | [Five] | [Six] | [Seven] | [Eight]
current chapter:
Chapter 9:
Cid returned directly to his rooms after work that day, shedding vest on his way there. The day had been pure torture. Equations that had made sense the day before were replaced with mush. Basic laws of physics were forgotten or misremembered. He’d been late for two meetings, and worthless for both of them.
Sabastian had almost threatened to send him home early but he had managed to pull himself together sometime after lunch and make an attempt at productivity.
Bringing Elissa home last night had been a mistake. Sleeping with her hadn’t been very intelligent either, obviously. Of course turning her down would have raised quite a few eyebrows as well.
Sitting across from Fran the next morning had been torture. Wondering if she knew, wondering if she cared, instead they had passed the time just like any other morning of idle chitchat, leaving him feeling like he was lying to her every time he opened his mouth.
And then he’d seized the chance to spend even more time with her tonight, knowing he would feel the same terror as he had over breakfast. He stripped quickly and donned black slacks, white shirt, and belt. He glared at his wardrobe for presenting him with too many options. He smiled, recalling the evening before when Fran had called him a clothes horse, but he darkened again, reminding himself he’d agreed not to think about that.
There was a knock on the door. He ignored it and went back to glowering at his clothes. Another knock and he went to the door to tell off whatever servant had the indecency to bother him just now. It was his mother. He sighed. As frustrated as he was right now it was still poor form to tell off one's mother. She let herself in.
“Big evening?” she asked, indicating his halfway to well-dressed state.
“If you must know I’ve asked Fran to the Metropolitan Playhouse for the evening.” He readied himself for whatever nastiness his mother was preparing about Fran, having heard several earfuls of it before. She often came with such wisdom when he managed to ruin yet another courtship due to wanting the lady to be something she was not, blamed it on Fran, which was probably true, and told him to get over her and move on.
Instead of doing that, however, she went to his wardrobe and pulled out a gold silk vest. She handed it to him and he pulled it over his shirt buttoning it cautiously and waiting for the explosion.
“No lecture on getting over her?” He asked while she gave his clothing options a critical eye.
“I’ve long since accepted that you would never get over her, son,” she sighed. “And although I have lived in Archadia almost my entire life, I do have certain Rozzarian notions that will never fade with time. Republics composed of sixteen houses demand taking a little bit of one good idea, a little bit of another good idea and bringing them together into something better.” Cid looked and her quizzically, having absolutely no idea what his mother was getting at. “You’ve been in love with her since before you were old enough to know what you felt. She’s been in love with you for Faram knows how long. If you’re not smart enough to figure what those two good ideas add up to, then you’re not nearly as smart as I give you credit for.”
She turned back to the wardrobe, pawing through jackets to go with the vest. Cid stared, mouth open in shock.
“I’ll not keep her like some back alley whore, she’d be a partner in every way I could manage,” Cid snapped back, defiant.
“It wouldn’t be fair to either of you otherwise,” his mother agreed.
“Why the sudden change of heart, Mother? You’d curse her name for the whole house to hear, mostly recently only nine weeks ago when I destroyed an opportunity for a good match with one Elissa, house Jossafi, because I couldn’t stand her empty-headed frivolity.” Cid winced when he remembered, again, how he’d gladly dragged her home last night despite or perhaps because of her perfect willingness to be taken, several times. He shook his head to clear it.
“Because I had words with her and she was nothing I expected and everything you said she was.” Cid almost physically backpedaled at the idea of Fran and his mother having words and was newly terrified of what his mother might have managed to craft together in one short day.
“That’s,” he paused, “good?”
“Yes, excellent. I don’t think it will be easy, son. But I’m pretty sure it will make you happier than anything else I’ve tried to make for you.” She pulled out a jacket, mostly red but with patches of purple and gold, collar turned back instead of a more usual high collar and tails down the back, handing it to him. He donned it wordlessly, trying to take in what his mother had said.
“Just to be clear...” He went to the dresser and took out white gloves, pulling them on slowly. “You want me to take Fran to the play, you’d like me to be with her, make her my partner, maybe even marry her, after explaining marriage because viera have no such institution, and keep her, political consequences be damned?”
She went up to him and tugged on his collar to even it out and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Have a good evening dear,” and she left, closing the door behind her. Cid found himself wondering if perhaps he should see about getting his mother a doctor because she was clearly heading towards insanity in her middle age.
He checked his appearance in the mirror one last time and headed out the door and down the hallway.
He knocked lightly on Fran’s door and straightened his jacket, slightly nervously. He heard her clacking footsteps come closer and she opened the door.
“Fran, good evening, I hope you -” He was not entirely sure how much time he spent open-mouthed and unable to speak as he stared at her. In retrospect it was probably well more than what would be considered appropriate by any measure of politeness. When his brain began to work well enough for him to close his mouth and actually take stock of her he caught the curl of her lip that she wore whenever she knew something that he did not.
He could not begin to fathom how she could be more covered than when she wore her armor yet be even more arousing.
“You look lovely.” He tried to stifle the wince at exactly how pathetic he sounded.
“You hope I look lovely?” she asked. “I hope I look lovely as well then.” She stepped out of her room and closed the door behind her. It took him a few moments to remember his manners and offer her his arm. She stepped up beside him and took his arm in hers. “I suppose I understand what Her Grace meant about not making it to the play now, though.”
Cid flushed in spite of himself and started to walk them to the aircars. He couldn’t decide whether he wanted to run after his mother and thank her profusely or curse her for how frustrated he would be for the entire play.
Cid managed not to embarrass himself too badly by staring at her the entire ride to the playhouse. He settled for staring at her well more than half the time. For her part Fran seemed oblivious to the level of attention he was paying her. She smiled and asked questions about what he had worked on that day and generally seemed to ignore exactly how much of a fool he was making of himself.
He answered competently, trying to pull himself together. He was used to his wits being sharper than this.
They managed to make their way to the theater without any more danger of losing brain cells. They pulled up to the playhouse and Cid got out, walking to the other side of the car to open the door for Fran. No one gave him a second glance. Cidolfus Bunansa at the theater was no news. When Fran stepped out of the car, however, all hell broke loose. Several stares and quite a few photographs were aimed in their direction. He led Fran into the theater and up to his box where he sat, deflated.
Fran looked at him, clearly concerned.
“It’s nothing, let's just enjoy the show,” he smiled at her. The lights went down and the curtain went up and the show began.
But it wasn’t nothing. As much as he wanted to imagine that it would be easy to have Fran in his life, tomorrow the gossip section would be plastered with pictures of them, probably implying he’d paid her well for her companionship. It was acceptable for him to keep her at home, in his bed, it was practically expected for someone of his station, but if he took her out to dinner or to a play he was a mad fool parading his sexual perversion for all to see.
He looked over at Fran who was already engrossed in the play on stage. A quick glance confirmed he’d already seen the play several times. A girl on a foreign island dresses as her brother to not be seen as a girl alone, falls in love with a local duke and mistaken identities and gender twisting misunderstandings follow. A comedy. He found he wasn’t in the mood and turned his mind back to the matter at hand.
He had always cared for her, since he was a child. He supposed he had always loved her. It used to be a child’s love, pure and full of wonder. When he’d drifted into adolescence he’d never found viera any more or less attractive than any other woman. She sat less than a foot away, radiating something that drew him in more than he could say. It would be easy to conclude that he wanted her. He did. But it went beyond that and he had no solid reason why.
Could he do that? Could he ask her to be his, forsake his father’s plans to see his son at the head of the Empire? Give up everything for a woman he had, in many ways, only met yesterday?
He watched her, leaning forward in her chair against the box railing watching the scene unfold before her on stage, eyes sparkling, her mouth half-open in awe. He swallowed to relieve the tightness in his throat.
“Faram help me, yes,” he whispered. Fran turned to him, half glowering for interrupting the play and half curious as to why he had spoken. His only response was to smile. She turned back to the play. He reached out to take her hand from where it rested against the front of the box. He ran a gloved finger across the back of her hand.
She responded by taking his hand in her own and pressing one side against him, leaning lightly against him, but she never took her eyes off the stage. He reorganized his arms wrapping one gently around her waist and bringing his other hand across to hold her hand. She rested her head, cheek to cheek with him, obvious to everything but the actors on the stage.
He held her like that for the rest of the production. His arm was numb by the end, but Cid considered it to have been for a good cause. They headed out of the theater, arm in arm; he had almost forgotten about the rest of the world when he stepped out of the theater to find that several dozen more photographers had come to the door apparently specifically to catch pictures of he and Fran. He gritted his teeth into a smile and led Fran to the waiting aircar.
“I did not think you were so hard up for female companionship you would resort to bringing a prettied up whore to the theater.”
He tensed and turned, knowing who had spoken before he turned. Elissa Jossafi stood looking lovely in a deep midnight blue evening gown with a good-looking man Cid did not recognize on her arm.
“Elissa,” he greeted her coolly. He bit his tongue from saying anything further and placed a hand at Fran’s back, escorting her towards the car.
“I’d have picked a prettier one for how much you must have paid for her.” That had come from her escort.
That was well worth the loss of a few teeth from his cocky grin. He turned to head towards him. Fran seemed to realize his intention and placed a hand across his chest. She did not apply any pressure but the intent was clear. Cid turned back to the car and continued the walk. He opened the door and Fran slid in.
“Behave,” she said softly, yet sternly. He nodded and made it to the other side of the car and inside without succumbing to the urge to pummel Elissa or her escort. He looked across the car and smiled at Fran, who smiled back and took his and again. “She is the one you were with last night?”
“How-?” He stopped. He should be apologizing, not questioning how she knew in the first place.
“I heard you, last night, and I could smell her on you this morning,” she explained simply.
“My apologies.” He couldn’t imagine what he could say to soothe the guilt he was feeling. “It was unexpectedly wonderful and difficult to see you again after all those years.”
Fran nodded. “I was similarly conflicted. I wanted to be here with you, but after living in Archades for so many years I knew we could not have what I wanted.” Fran went silent, considering something for a few moments. “Her Grace said you had made a habit of losing yourself in women who you did not love and would not marry.”
“My mother, it seems, has a large mouth lately,” Cid answered, chagrined. “Never again. If you would have me, with all my faults, I will cherish you forever.”
Fran sat shocked for a few moments, taking in what he had said.
“I think this must be what your mother must have meant by ‘eating out of your hand’,” she offered a large smile. Cid groaned and reevaluated whether he should thank his mother or not.
They arrived home and Cid escorted her to her door. He kissed her hand, hopefully slightly gallantly instead of as nervous has he felt. He looked into her eyes, wishing he could figure out how to say everything he was feeling right now.
Fran bit her lip uncertainly. A few moments later she licked her lips. After what appeared to be a moment’s consideration she brought a hand up and wrapped it around the back of his neck, threading fingers through his hair and pulling him towards her. He wet his own lips nervously before they reached hers.
The kiss was tentative, her lips sealed tight. He snaked one hand to her waist and brought the other to tilt her head to a better angle. He ran his lips across hers inviting her to soften and relax into him. She mimicked his kiss, hesitantly at first but tried again moments later, deciding it was worth repeating. Her next kiss was more forceful and he met it eagerly she exhaled hotly against his cheek and drew in another breath though her nose, loudly in his ear.
He drew away and kissed her cheek, as she had done years ago just before leaving. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was slightly ragged. His wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer to him, resting his head on her shoulder. She ran her hands down his back, holding him tightly as well.
He trailed a light kiss across her jaw. “I love you,” he whispered, and drew away and put a more decent amount of distance between them.
Fran smiled and took his chin lightly to tilt his face of slightly upwards and kissed him one more time, soundly. “Myself as well.”
He pulled away, took her hand and placed it over his heart in a mock-dramatic pose. Fran smiled. “Good night, my dear.”
He walked back to his room, turning around to catch Fran, hair slightly askew now, looking down the hall watching him go. His mind screamed for him to go back to her, to unpin her hair and lead her through the door to her room and let her drag him down on top of her, peeling off her silk dress and - he stopped his thoughts turning back around and back towards his own bed, alone.
Just because he had never bothered to properly court a woman didn’t mean he was incapable of it. He would do right by her, treat her as he would treat a lady. The fact that his mother would probably kill him otherwise made the decision a little easier to stand by. He went bed feeling a combination of frustration and contentment that was a somewhat pleasurable agony.